About me were men, my own men--pressed together back to back, meeting as best they could the tide pouring against them from two sides.

Remorselessly they hurled us back, those behind pushing the front ranks into us.

We fought with fingers, fists, clubbed revolvers, paving the floor with bodies, yet inch by inch were compelled to give way, our little circle narrowing, and wedged tighter against the wall.

Mahoney had made the stairs, and fought there like a demon until some one shot him down.

I saw three men lift the great log which had barricaded the door, and hurl it crashing against the gray mass.